Doll Parts
by girleater
Summary: Hattie had always loved dolls. -dark.-
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Ella Enchanted. Or the lyrics quoted at the start of the chapter. **

"_I am__  
__Doll eyes__  
__Doll mouth__  
__Doll legs__  
__I am__  
__Doll arms__  
__Big veins__  
__Dog bait___

_Yeah, they really want you__  
__They really want you, they really do__  
__Yeah, they really want you__  
__They really want you, and I do too."_

_**Hole—Doll Parts**_

Chapter 1

Hattie had always loved dolls.

Pretty, pristine little things, always built of porcelain, adorned with the prettiest finishes, clothed in the finest of dresses. They were free from imperfections, free from movement and free from a voice. They were toys, the perfect, emotionless toy...

When Hattie was a child, on her sixth birthday her mother had found a beautiful doll, just for her. It was an ivory-skinned beauty, with long black hair, and clad in a green velvet frock. Its eyes were painted green, shining brightly. The second she laid her hands on her, it was love. She combed its hair, smoothed its dress—she even _named _it.

Ella was its name, her pretty little Ella. It was always with her, wherever she went. The mere thought of having to leave it at home sent her into a frenzy of a temper tantrum.

Ella was far too important to let out of her sight.

As Hattie grew older, the doll still kept its place in her heart, but she allowed herself to leave the house without it. But her mind was always on it. Every second of every outing, her thoughts drifted to smooth, porcelain skin. To bright, emotionless eyes and the thrill of her hand slipping _just so _beneath the velvet dress-

The very thought of it sent shivers down her spine.

She can still remember clearly the very first time her love for the doll had seemed to cross a line. She was thirteen, and beneath the thick covers of her bed, she found herself stroking the doll's legs. Ella had just been looking _so _pretty lately, and she couldn't help herself. Hattie bit her lip, wondering what it felt like _up there. _With shaking fingers, she let herself feel _up up up _Ella's dress. There was soft porcelain, but it _almost _felt warm, and with a gasp—a shudder—Hattie slipped her _own _hand up her dress.

She barely managed to muffle her screams with her pillow.

Such moments became a normal nightly occurrence, and the thought of being without them was absurd.

The day of the funeral had finally come.

Hattie's mother was set to attend the funeral of the late Lady Eleanor, a woman who her mother claimed to have been intensely close to. Hattie doubted this; her mother had such a difficult time getting close to anyone. She pondered this while brushing Ella's hair. She smiled as she watched the soft, shining black hair slip through the brush's bristles. It was such a beautiful sight, and no work of art would ever compare. Ella was a work of art all her own.

"You can't keep that doll forever, dear."

Her mother said, fussing with her hair as they prepared to leave for the funeral.

"Yes, I can. She was a gift from _you, _after all."

Her mother only sighed, and Hattie grudgingly tucked Ella into bed, kissed her on the head, and departed.

The funeral was a dreary affair.

The casket was open, and Hattie could see the face of the Lady Eleanor. Her expression was terribly serious, and Hattie had to stifle giggles; the dead always looked _so _serious. Her mind though, soon wondered to Ella, whom she'd left tucked in bed. She wondered if she was alright, if she missed her—oh, how ardentlyHattie missed her little doll. She wished she could take it everywhere again, wished she could keep it close and safe. But no, her mother had put a stop to that as soon as she'd turned eleven. She had cried, ran upstairs to her bedroom, slammed the door and resented her mother and hated everything (except Ella) for a month. It had taken an intense bout of coaxing and bribery for her mother to so much as get her downstairs for dinner.

Chancellor Thomas finally finished droning on about Lady Elanor, and when he did, her husband and daughter both made their way to the casket. The daughter's hair, Hattie noticed, was black as midnight. The same exact shade as Ella's. Hattie's attention was immediately captured—she sat up slightly, stared, watched as she closed the casket, the lid shutting with a deafening _creak. _There was a split second of silence, before sobs began wracking the girl's body. And as she ran from the church, Hattie noticed the faintest flash of ivory skin and green eyes.

Hattie felt her pulse quicken, and she quickly told her mother how _worried _she was over the poor girl, before nearly bolting from the room, in search of (_hopefully_) her living Ella.

She found the girl beneath a weeping willow tree, sobbing like a child. The dress she was wearing would be ruined now, and that made Hattie grimace. The only other thing she liked as much as Ella was clothes. Taking a shaky breath, Hattie knelt beside the girl, placing a hand on her back. She jumped—looking towards Hattie, and the second their eyes locked, Hattie felt her insides twist and contort and her stomach _heaved _and the apex between her thighs moistened and _ached _so terribly...

Bright, green eyes, flawless, pale skin...all of it, everything, was sitting before her with tears running down her cheeks.

"What do you want?"

Hattie simpered, "I just came to see how you were." It was a lie, really. But Hattie was a good liar, and each word slipped effortlessly from her tongue.

"This is embarrassing," the girl said, wiping her eyes and sighing in irritation when she noticed the mess she'd made of her dress.

"Bertha will never be able to make it smooth..." she mumbled, and Hattie couldn't stop _staring. _

"What's your name?" She asked, and the girl looked up, before answering simply "Ella."

A/N: I'm tackling doll fetishes now. Granted, the story has a lot more substance and meaning than that, but hey.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ella.

E

L

L

A.

Hattie's thoughts drifted to the doll that was nestled in her bedcovers back home. That perfect little porcelain body, the perfect little _everything..._

The only problem was that she was breathing.

"Who are you?" Ella _(Ella Ella Ella) _asked, a bite to her voice. She seemed more annoyed now, her previous demeanor of weakness fading quickly as Hattie continued to stare, to shift uncomfortably , her very core burning and burning with the desire to pin Ella down and _touch her. _She found herself gazing helplessly into Ella's green eyes, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

"Hello?" Ella snapped, waving a hand in Hattie's face.

"My name is Hattie. My mother knew your mother..."

She didn't want to talk. She just wanted to _feel. _Everything felt hot. Everything felt like it was tilting, spinning, spiraling out of control the longer she spent sitting in this girl's presence. She wondered fleetingly if the resemblance was a coincidence. _This_ Ella wasn't a doll. No, she was a living, breathing human. She spoke, she felt, she _responded. _But Hattie didn't believe in coincidence, and the heart beating in her chest almost made it all the more enticing. The thought of blood and bone and muscle—Ella was real—_her _Ella was real, and she would have her.

Ella stood up, feebly attempting to dust the dirt and mud from her dress. That was futile—Bertha really _wouldn't _be able to make it smooth. Hattie didn't want her to go. She wanted her to stay, to stay and lie still and just _be good. _

"Well, it's been a pleasure. But I have to go."

Hattie wanted to pull her back. She wanted to pull her back and into her arms but she just _sat _there, eyes watching Ella walk away, watching her hips sway, her limbs just..._work._

_Parting was such sweet sorrow. _

The smell of porcelain filled her nostrils. Sweat ran down her back, and her knuckles were bone white from the effort of clenching the sheets. Ella. Ella. Ella. _Ella. _Her brain buzzed, her heart raced, everything felt like it was falling, falling falling falling fast and she couldn't catch herself. The pillow between her legs was wet, wet wet wet and her lips were planted firmly on _Ella's _mouth, moving and biting the cold lips, biting them and wishing blood would ooze from the them. Anger was radiating from her every pore. Her hips thrust faster; harder, more more _more _until she buried her face in Ella's neck, screaming until her throat felt like it was on fire.

She rolled over, clinging to the doll, clinging to her sanity.

It was slipping away.

Just like Ella.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, so I hardly ever write author's notes that say anything beyond "_oh, I wrote this because blah blah blah._" But, tonight, I decided to do something more. I've had my account on here for about...four years, I think. And when I first started out, I honestly never expected anyone to ready _anything _I wrote. I was young and a novice and half the writer I am now. I've grown and I've written _everything—_novels, poems, lyrics, and fanfiction has become this outlet of creativity that allows me to experiment with different genres and themes stress-free. I don't think people understand sometimes how stressful writing original work is. Because that is the work I'm going to make money off. _This _is my stress-relief. This is my practice, and the fact that people read my work and _like _it. I write things that make people uncomfortable a lot of the time, I'm not even going to lie, and you guys _like _it. You put up with my abnormal creativity, and I love ya'll for it. Every person who reads, reviews, favorites my work—thank you. Seriously. It means so much. I'm having so much fun writing in any form, and just knowing that what makes me happy is entertaining other people. I just wanted you all to know that whenever I get an email about a story, it makes my day. And you know, I promise to be a little more personal with my author's notes, and so yeah. I love you all. :)

XxXxXxX

_My head is lead, I don't ever want to go to bed__  
__Your hair is on fire__  
__You snuff the blaze, turn to vapor, then you float away_

_**Brand New||Bed**_

XxXxXxX

Chapter Three

XxXxXxX

Sleeping late was an indulgence only the rich could partake in.

Hattie's eyes opened after the sun had been up for hours, her limbs stiff and a heavy weight on her thoughts. She turned over, her gaze immediately resting upon Ella. Her little porcelain beauty. Smiling drowsily, she leaned in and planted a kiss on the doll's mouth.

Cold, so cold.

She couldn't help but moan—whimpering when flashes of that _living, breathing, blood-flowing-in-her-veins __**Ella **_flashed before her eyes. Her nails dug into the sheets, mouth becoming a frenzied mess as she struggled to contain herself. Heat washed over her again In waves—crashing waves of desire and _shame._

The shame was strongest of all.

Breathing in deeply, Hattie found herself wantonly grinding against her sheets, and a dry sob escaped her lips. She sagged down onto the mattress, tears stinging her eyes. She pulled Ella into her arms, clinging to her precious doll. She buried her face in the velveteen fabric of her dress, nails clawing at it—digging into it and wanting so badly to just _rip it off. _

"I'm so sorry."

She didn't know why she was apologizing—maybe it was to Ella, maybe it was to herself. She didn't know, and she didn't think she would ever know. A sigh and a half-hearted smile, she released Ella, kissing the doll's cheek before sitting up. She ran shaking fingers through tangled hair, chest aching with every breath.

"She looks just like you," she said, speaking to the doll. Oh, she loved her little doll. She loved coming home and curling up in bed with her. She loved touching her. She loved kissing her. She loved that _she wasn't real-_

"I slept terribly last night," she drawled, lazily tracing her fingertips along Ella's leg.

"That _girl. _She kept popping up in my dreams, dear. It was just awful. Deplorable."

Hattie shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"She was so dismissive. I was being _so _nice, going to check on her when she ran out crying. I thought, _what a poor little thing!_"

Hattie swore Ella was listening.

Biting her lip, Hattie barely managed the strength to slip out of bed. Her legs felt gelatinous, and she feared they would give at any second, sending her spiraling down onto the floor. There, she would curl up into a useless heap of tangled limbs. She would stay there, and hope Ella would call for help.

She stumbled about her room, coming to a stop at her vanity mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot—hair a mass of curls and her lips were chapped, dry blood clinging to the pink skin. She licked them, tongue tracing carefully along—it stung, and she bit down hard on her bottom lip, jerking her hips fighting the urge to-

Hattie groaned, grabbing her robe from the back of a chair. She pulled it tight around her, and her thoughts drifted back to the _breathing _Ella. She wondered where she lived. She wondered if she could visit, even just once.

"Good morning, dear."

Her mother's voice pierced through her reverie, and she looked up, smiling feebly and sitting down at the breakfast table.

"How did you sleep?"

Her mother touched her shoulder, looking warmly down at her. Hattie could only shrug her shoulders, the thought of visiting Ella having rendered her incapable of any other thought process of goal.

"Mama?"

Her voice was quiet, and she stared down at her hands. She had never been so..._reserved. _Her entire life, she had oozed confidence, she had taken what she wanted without hesitation, but _now. _

She felt crippling sensations of uncertainty that threatened to break her to pieces.

"Yes, love?"

"...where is Sir Peter's manor?"


End file.
